


Tristia

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Other, Out of Character, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-15
Updated: 2007-06-23
Packaged: 2018-09-30 12:16:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10162841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: They weren’t friends, they were siblings. Tied together by bonds closer than any could imagine. Nothing could separate them. A look into the before, during, and after of the Final Battle. AU.





	1. Not One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, or Ronald Weasley. J.K. Rowling created the world of Harry Potter, and therefore owns every aspect of it. I do not intend this story to be any form of slander, nor do I make any profit from it.

Notes: The funeral scene in Liberate Me inspired this entire thing. o.O Also, I am writing this fanfiction to prove that I am capable of writing more than just “romantic smut”, as some people believe slash writers are incapable of doing. You cannot like it, if that is your choice, but if it is for personal reasons, I truly don’t care to know why.

Notes2: I wasn’t going to write this, but whatever. Just thought I would clear something up before y’all went nuts. Yes, Hermione is Head Girl, and Harry Head Boy. However, due to the circumstances, they are in the dormitories with their housemates. You may think it should be different, and that’s all good for you. But it’s my story, so nyah. –wink-

Warnings: STRONG angst. Horribly strong angst. My goal is to make you cry. Mwaha. :D AU, as always. THIS STORY IGNORES THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE! There. Now I won’t feel bad. Haha.

Tristia

Not One

The halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were unusually quiet as the Great Clock struck midnight, its titanic cry more like a long, sorrowful wail as it resonated off of the ancient stone walls of the castle. The common mischievous students of the school year, who were always breaking curfew in an attempt to seek some overrated adventure, were nowhere to be seen – Mrs. Norris, who was notorious for finding rule-breaking children, was unable to locate a single one. Even the Houselves, who used this time to clean up the messes left by their busy charges, were instead gathered in the kitchens, trying desperately to soothe the weeping Winky, who was still mourning the death of her mate.

Gryffindor Tower, the most hectic and lively living quarters in Hogwarts, was in much the same state. Despite the fact that it was Friday night, every one of the twenty-seven housemates were tucked into the safety of their warm beds, blankets drawn tightly around them in an effort to shield themselves from the horrors of the outside world. Several had been fortunate enough to find enough solace in their makeshift havens to fall into a peaceful, illusion-filled sleep, but some still lay flat on their backs, terror-filled eyes and pale faces pointed up toward the ceiling, desperate words of prayer forming on their lips, but with no voice to give them life.

Hermione Granger was one of these adverse children. The seventeen-year-old Head Girl had long since given up any hope of finding sleep that night – as it stood, she wasn’t even sure that she had tried. Her normally warm, intelligent brown eyes were now red from hours of falling tears, and filled with so much fear and sorrow that she resembled a child traumatized by war. It was only by McGonagall’s order that she was not still in the Common Room, staring into the powerful fire that forever burned in its hearth. Not still wrapped up in the warm safety of Ron and Harry’s arms, tucked between them in an unbreakable shield of love and trust. She could still remember Harry’s emerald green eyes following her as she walked slowly up the stairs – smiling at her, nodding his head in a reassuring way, encouraging her to gather the strength she needed, and what little peace she could find before the Final Battle. Could still recall Ron’s bright smile in her direction, vainly attempting to conceal the fear that had long since engulfed her.

A flash of lightning outside the window temporarily lit the small dormitory, allowing her to catch a short glimpse of the slumbering Lavender Brown and Paravarti Patil. A horrible burst of rage and jealously swept through her at the sight of their peaceful faces. How dare they believe they could relax! How dare they have the audacity to think everything was well enough to go to sleep, when in less than twenty-four hours, Harry would be risking his life to ensure the survival of theirs!

Without a word, Hermione jerked up, throwing her blankets to the side in frustration. Crookshank’s wide golden eyes watched alertly as she threw her night cloak over her slim body, not even bothering to tie it, and gently slid her feet into her slippers. She couldn’t stay in here – couldn’t pretend that everything was alright. Not with a picture of The Daily Prophet flashing through her head, the front page screaming out Harry’s call for Voldemort’s presence at Hogwarts. His demand to end of the war that had raged between them for the past sixteen years.

She wouldn’t wake up Ron and Harry, despite how much her heart was begging her to. She just needed time to think, time to come to terms with the fact that life would soon be changing in ways her mind had refused to acknowledge for six years.

“Stay here, Crookshanks,” she cooed softly to her annoyed cat, bending down to give him a firm rubbing on his ears. “I’ll be back soon.” She left the large orange animal on her bed, and closed the door softly behind her.

The Common Room was empty, just as she had known it would be, and the only light provided was that of the fire. Without a moment’s hesitation, she made her way toward the soft burgundy sofa, practically throwing herself into its corner, curling into the tightest protective ball she could manage to make. It was with a sharp stab to Hermione’s heart that she noticed the lack of the three mugs that, until a month ago, were a common addition to this section of Gryffindor Tower every night at 11:00. Filled with hot cocoa and a tinge of peppermint, Dobby had begun making them so as to keep “Harry Potter and his friends” healthy, when he had discovered how late the trio stayed up. His death had been a heavy blow to them all, and, Hermione silently determined, the final button of Harry’s patience with the Dark Lord and his followers.

Hermione’s face contorted into a tight frown at the horrifying memory. Lucius Malfoy and Peter Pettigrew had managed, per casting the imperious on Draco Malfoy, to sneak into the castle late one night, a night they knew, by Draco, that the Trio would be in the kitchen, just as they were every Thursday night. There had been no warning. One minute, they had been laughing at Ron’s face after he had stuffed too many Cauldron Cadables into his mouth, and the next, Malfoy’s wand had been directly between Harry’s eyes, Wormtail’s trained on her and Ron. There was nothing that they could have done as the Death Eater stepped back and hissed the Killing Curse, and nothing Harry could have done to stop Dobby from jumping in front of him.

It had gotten bloody after that. Harry, in a fit of rage, had drawn his wand on the startled Malfoy Senior, Avada Kedavara leaving his lips so quickly that he now no longer remembered doing it. Malfoy had thought quickly enough to pull Wormtail in the way, but had not thought of the consequences of the death of the one who had cast the Imperious on his son. For reasons still unknown to them all, Draco, clear of the curse, wrapped himself around the back of his father, pointed his wand at the older wizard’s chest, and shouted a curse unfamiliar to their ears. The next second, Lucius Malfoy had joined Dobby and Wormtail in death, and Draco was in a coma in St. Mungos.

Harry had changed so much after that. Despite the fact the Peter Pettigrew was responsible for keeping him away from Sirius and Remus, and for the deaths of his parents, Cedric, and Dobby, the fact that he had killed him had turned Harry into an emotionless warrior. The change still brought tears to the young witch’s eyes.

“Hermione?”

The soft, understanding whisper jerked Hermione out of her thoughts. Her head snapped up, honey eyes widening at the sight of Ron’s disheveled, fatigued form, still wearing the clothes he had been in earlier that day. His cerulean eyes, though tired, were watching her avidly beneath red hair with sincere concern. “What are you doing down here?” He continued. “I thought you went to bed.”

“I just … needed to think,” she replied softly, shifting so that she was sitting up, eyes darting back to the fire. “I couldn’t stay with Lavender and Paravarti. They’re … sleeping. Sleeping, Ron!” Her voice raised slightly in her distress, but she paid it no mind. “For God’s Sake, don’t they understand?! It’s tomorrow. Tomorrow! This is it! They think everything will be fine, but they don’t know! We could lose! Harry could … Harry could …” She couldn’t bare to finish the thought, and Ron wouldn’t make her. Without a word, he joined her on the couch, drawing her into his arms, allowing her to bury her head into his shoulder.

“Shh, Hermione,” he soothed desperately, forcing his own voice to remain steady. “It will be OK. We’re all going to make it. I promise. Shhh.” His friend merely shook in his arms, his voice alone not enough to calm her. Slowly, gently, he lifted her lithe form up with him, holding her tightly against his chest, and made his way toward the stairs. Neville, Dean, and Seamus wouldn’t protest to Hermione’s presence in their dorm, and Harry, no matter what he said, needed just as much comfort right now as they did.

It didn’t surprise him when Neville met him at the door. They shared an understanding look, before the smaller teen moved out of the way, permitting them to pass. No one interrupted as Ron steadily made his way to Harry’s bed, softly setting Hermione down on her feet, before lightly tugging Harry’s drapes open.

The Boy Who Lived was sitting upright, brilliant emerald eyes revealing he had already known what was going on. Ron joined him silently, leaving a spot in the middle. They both watched their female friend just as she watched them. The scent of wet salt was assaulted their senses, the sound of a soft whimper slicing at their hearts. Harry, eyes filled with the same understanding as their friend’s, slowly held out a hand to her, beckoning her forward. It was the only prompting the young witch needed, and with a sob, she threw herself into his arms, soaking his shirt with her sorrows. He held onto her tenderly, holding back tears of his own, and whispered reassurances into her ear.

Ron studied the two for a moment, before standing and reaching for the drapes. He took a moment to peer out into the dorm, eyes burning with a fierce protectiveness as they caught those of the others. The message was clear – Back Off – and once he was certain it had been taken, he closed the drapes, and turned around.

Hermione, now laying back against the pillows on the bed, tucked firmly against her brother’s side, instantly reached out for Ron’s hand, seeking the last part of their bond. He grabbed it instantly, squeezing it just as tightly as she was his, and joined them on the bed. Harry was still rubbing her arm soothingly, and Ron was occupied brushing the tears from her face, hassled by the falling of his own. She smiled sadly at them both, knowing that was not alone in her sorrow, and that her justified fears … were shared.

The horrors tomorrow would bring were for tomorrow. For now, the infamous Golden Trio sought peace from each other, where they could always count on finding it. They fell asleep, finally, arms wrapped protectively around one another, and worries temporarily forgotten.

Leaving Neville to explain to McGonagall and Dumbledore exactly why the Head Girl was asleep in the 7th Year Boy’s Dormitory.

To Be Continued


	2. Not Two

  
Author's notes: Not Two   
They weren’t friends, they were siblings. Tied together by bonds closer than any could imagine. Nothing could separate them. A look into the before, during, and after of the Final Battle. AU.

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, or Ronald Weasley. J.K. Rowling created the world of Harry Potter, and therefore owns every aspect of it. I do not intend this story to be any form of slander, nor do I make any profit from it.

 

Notes: Please ignore the excessive spacing. I had to get this from my account on HPFF, and they seemed a little ... aggressive towards this story -glare-. Prudes.

 

Warnings: Angst, AU, and character deaths. Ignores Half-Blood Prince entirely.

 

 

Tristia

 

 

Not Two

 

 

It was raining.

 

 

He stood on the balcony that hung proudly over the grand double door entrance of Hogwarts, shielded from the rain only by the invisible magical canopy Winky had stubbornly demanded she would put up. Ever since Dobby had passed, the once insane House-Elf had taken it upon herself to look after Harry when she wasn’t grieving, brushing off his protests by simply saying it was her duty to Dobby. The raven-haired seventeen-year-old wizard was grateful for it now – he highly doubted he would be able to keep hold of his wand if he was soaking wet. Hell, he might even slip and fall right in front of Voldemort. Wouldn’t that be the ultimate way to strike fear into the heart of his enemy?

 

 

“Prepare to die, Voldemort – whooooops! Crash!” The Boy Who Lived chuckled bitterly at his own joke, knowing full well that he was trying to keep his mind off of his current situation.

 

 

“Talking to yourself now, Potter? Maybe Rita Skeeter was right after all. Perhaps you are insane.” A small smirk flittered across Harry’s face at the sound of the familiar sarcastic voice, and he didn’t even bother to turn around as he responded.

 

 

“Well, that’s all well and good for you lot, then, isn’t it? One mildly insane wizard fighting off a horribly insane wizard.” The smirk returned full force as his guest snorted, and slowly changed into a sincere smile as he turned. “I’m glad you decided to come, Severus.”

 

 

The Potion’s Professor rolled his obsidian eyes at the sentiment, though his mouth betrayed his façade as it quirked slightly upright. Those who had been with Harry Potter and Severus Snape at Hogwarts for the past seven years, save for Ron and Hermione, were still somewhat disconcerted by the dramatic change in the relationship the two shared. Their mutual hatred of one another, once legendary, had faded over the past year, when they were forced to endure each other’s company after Dumbledore had ordered Snape to train the destined hero. Seven months of talking, sparring, potions, and more talking had shown the two of them that they did not know as much about the other as they had believed. Snape had learned that Harry’s life was not as easy going and worshipped as he had thought, and Harry learned the true reason Snape despised his father so much. Now, it was not uncommon to see Snape constantly checking up on the young Gryffindor, or to spot Harry going to his Potion’s Professor for counseling instead of seeking Dumbledore’s guidance.

 

 

“Where are your other halves?” The older wizard inquired, darting around an probing gaze, voice showing his displeasure at their absence. Harry merely chuckled, waving his hand dismissively at the misplaced anger.

 

 

“They’re inside, organizing those who have decided to fight with us. Rather amusing to watch Dumbledore and Moody take orders from Hermione.” Silence followed this statement, the humor of it quickly fading, leaving Severus to watch his new protégé curiously. Harry’s eyes had become vacant, his eyebrows crinkling together in thought, allowing the lightning bolt scar to flash out dangerously from beneath his hair.

 

 

“Did I rush this?” The savior asked after a moment, more to himself than to his mentor. “Did I act too quickly? Are we even ready for it? Or is my bloody anger going to be the cause of the deaths of hundreds of innocent people?”

 

 

The professor instantly reached out and clasped his hand around the slight wizard’s shoulder, forcing him to return to reality. Curious emerald eyes turned to look inquisitively at the taller man, who stared back at him with his usual blank expression. All emotion he was feeling, however, was thrown into the words that left his mouth.

 

 

“We are as ready as we will ever be, Harry,” Severus stated firmly. “The younger students have been sent overseas to safety with their families, and the strongest wizards around have come to our aid. If we can’t win now, then we were never meant to win.” His student slowly nodded, and though it was obvious that he was not completely convinced, Snape did not push the issue further.

 

 

“How’s Draco?” Harry inquired after a moment, pointedly changing the subject. “I know you went to visit him this morning. Is he any better?”

 

 

Slowly, Severus shook his head, his own grief apparent at the state of his much beloved godson. “The doctors say that his condition has not changed. They’re not even sure that it will. He intended to die that night, you know. Intended to go with right along with Lucius. The doctors say that there just wasn’t enough hatred in the spell to work.” Snape paused for a moment, not noticing how rigid Harry had gone, before asking, “You are certain that you don’t remember what the spell was?”

 

 

“No,” responded Harry shortly, not turning. He took in a deep breath, before continuing. “I’m sure he’ll wake up, though. He’s too damn stubborn not to, I know. … When he does, could you tell him I said thank you? For everything? And don’t forget your promise, either.”

 

 

Before Severus had an opportunity to ask just exactly it was the Boy Who Lived meant, and to assure him of his promise, Harry gasped loudly in pain, hand jolting up to clasp his scar. Instantly, Severus’ eyes sought the sky, dread filling him from head to toe as the Dark Mark began to form, clear and bright for all to see.

 

 

“Harry!” Hermione and Ron were racing up the steps and toward their friend, eyes also on the looming skull in disgust. Slowly, Harry stood, sneering as the Death Eaters began to fire pointless blasts, before it turned into a devilish, fated smirk.

 

 

“It’s time.”

 

 

.T.

 

 

Inside the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, those who had assembled for the Final Battle were instantly aware of the arrival of the Dark Lord and his servants. Some moved bravely to the front of the group, ready to lead them forward to their victory. Others fidgeted nervously, ready to kill if need be, but wanting nothing more than to simply curl up in their beds, in their own homes, knowing their families were safe and happy. A few whimpered in distress, barely able to keep hold of their wands, other hands clasping the healing potions on their belts tightly.

 

 

All movement ceased, however, as Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, entered the Great Hall, flanked by his Seconds, Severus Snape closely behind. He stood in front of the doors, and for a moment, merely watched them. His emerald eyes pierced into their souls, and some stirred uncomfortably. When he spoke, however, it was one name, his tone demanding their respect and silence.

 

 

“Remus?”

 

 

Several witches and wizards in the group moved to the side, allowing the proud werewolf through. They watched curiously as the creature of the night approached their savior, though their gazes shifted away as the two wizards embraced tightly, sharing words only themselves and the other three could hear. It was only when Harry spoke again that they dared to look back, and by then, Remus Lupin was standing next to Severus Snape, both with their wands drawn and ready for battle. Whatever had passed was deftly concealed.

 

 

And now Harry Potter was addressing them.

 

 

“Today is the last day the Wizarding World will ever have to fear the name Voldemort.” Several flinched at the cursed term, yet Harry ignored them. “After today, no witch or wizard shall fear for their lives. No parent shall ever fear sending their child to school, only to never see them again.” Here, his gaze shifted to the Diggorys. “And no child shall ever have to fear losing their parents.” Another brief pause, and slight movement from Neville, before Harry took a deep breath, and turned into the powerful Gryffindor they all knew him to be. “You have your orders. You know what to do. And you know what’s at stake.”

 

 

“Move out.”

 

 

.T.

 

 

Terrible, pain-filled cries, such as Hogwarts had never heard before, and would hopefully never hear again, filled the air. The stench of blood and death was almost overbearing. The giants, werewolves, vampires, and inferi that Voldemort had brought with him shrieked horrendously as they fought with the valiant centaurs, unicorns, chimeras, and dragons Hagrid had managed to gather for Harry. The Giant Squid scrambled upon land like a creature from a horror movie, thanks to a spell Hermione had located, and was sweeping up and killing any Death Eater or dark creature that managed to cross its path. Death Eaters and light wizards and witches fought one another murderously, a large number from both sides falling.

 

 

Harry had seen death before. He had dealt death before. But nothing he had done or seen was comparable to this. He had kept his group above the age of fifteen, but Voldemort had delved low enough to recruit children barely eight years old. Tears stung his eyes at the sight of one who had been dealt a fatal and painful blow.

 

 

Voldemort deserved nothing but Hell.

 

 

“Harry, behind you!”

 

 

Ron’s call sent Harry spinning, only to come face to face with a rather horrifying woman Inferi. Blood oozed from wounds she had supposedly died from; her eyes were pointing in two different directions. She opened her mouth, emitting a sound that sounded like a mixture between a hiss and a moan, and lunged for him.

 

 

“Dissaporarea!” He roared, holding his wand directly to her chest. With a shrill cry and a pink light, the creature was gone, only to leave something more terrible in her wake.

 

 

“Harry Potter!” Cried Bellatrix Lestrange in mock delight, cackling with glee. Her dark hair was pulled back in an elegant style, her unhealthily-thin body clothed in white dress robes that were far too pure for her. Had Harry not known who she was, he would have believed her to be here by misplaced Apparation.

 

 

“Bellatrix,” he snarled, emerald eyes flashing dangerously as he stared at the woman who had murdered his godfather. The insane witch merely smiled at him, twirling her wand around her fingers threateningly.

 

 

“You know, Little Potter, there is truly no reason for my lord to bother with the likes of you,” she mused loudly, bursting into a roar of cackling laughter before instantly stopping. “He likes to think that you are worthy of his time, but I will show him otherwise.” Harry tightened his jaw, wand lifting.

 

 

“I’m afraid you won’t have the chance, Bellatrix,” he informed her softly. However, his statement simply caused her to laugh again.

 

 

“You want to kill me, Potter? Please! We both know Pettigrew was just a mistake. You don’t have what it takes to kill me!”

 

 

“Fortunately, he won’t have to.”

 

 

Before either could blink, Remus Lupin was atop Voldemort’s new right hand. Spells were shot left and right – dangerous flashes of red and green. They rolled away from Harry, cries of pain and roars of laughter echoing in his ears. He made a move to go after them, intent on saving one of the remaining father figures he had, when a strong hand gripped his elbow, jerking him back. Startled, furious green eyes clashed with hard, determined black.

 

 

“This is his battle, Potter,” Snape stated, pulling him away. “You have your own.”

 

 

“I can’t just leave him!” Harry bellowed in protest, but Snape stood fast.

 

 

“You have to! Or everything that has been done will be for nothing! Is that what you really want? Your friends will die if you don’t follow your plan, Potter!” The last words were harsh, but Severus did not regret them as Harry suddenly ceased struggling.

 

 

“Your promise?” He inquired after a second. Severus nodded.

 

 

“I conjured up more than enough obstacles for Granger and Weasley. Challenging, but nothing serious. They won’t get here before you’re done.” Harry nodded gratefully, wincing slightly as a shriek of a painful death hit his ears. “Voldemort will be in the back of all of this. Let’s others do the dirty work for him. He’ll hope to tire you out.”

 

 

“Thanks,” the teen muttered. “I … need another favor of you.”

 

 

“What?” An explosion drew their attention toward the castle – the Giant Squid fell to the ground with a wail, still managing to catch several of the enemies in its beak.

 

 

“Leave,” Harry ordered. He went on before Severus could protest. “You’re all that Draco has left. I was responsible for everything that happened with his father. I won’t take you from him, too.” The spy was silent for a moment.

 

 

“Why do you care?” He finally ventured, and Harry smirked sadly.

 

 

“I owe him.” Another explosion. Harry cast a deft eye toward the back of the Death Eater army, and sure enough, his scar seared with pain. “Leave, Severus!”

 

 

And without a word, the former Death Eater Apparated away, and Harry began to make his way toward his final destination.

 

 

.T.

 

 

Ron cried out as the vampire’s dagger sliced shallowly at his side. It hissed in response, apparently pleased with its small victory, and the wizard saw his shot. The one major flaw all vampire’s possessed – pride. With a groan, he slammed his own dagger straight into its throat, watching with wide eyes as the creature instantly went silent, and fell to the ground. Hesitating slightly, he withdrew the blade quickly, grimacing at the sight of all the blood.

 

 

“Ron!”

 

 

Hermione was running toward him, covered in more blood and dirt than he was, the expression on her face the only proof that none of the crimson liquid was hers.

 

 

“Where’s Harry?” He called back, throwing a killing curse in the direction of another stubborn vampire. Hermione reached him, breathing heavily, gazing around worriedly.

 

 

“I haven’t seen him!” She cried in turn, before casting Lumos at a small group of vampires. The smell of their rotting flesh left both turning their heads away. “It’s like the whole bloody army is after us! I can’t catch a glimpse of him anywhere!”

 

 

“I know what you mean!” The howl of one of Voldemort’s enhanced werewolves sent chills down their spines. With a startled jolt, Hermione noticed something she hadn’t seen before. Slowly, she reached for the sleeve of Ron’s robe, and pulled, and pointed. Ron, looking up, felt his blood chill.

 

 

They were surrounded.

 

 

.T.

 

 

It didn’t really surprise him that the battle was lacking back here. No doubt Lord Voldemort did not wish to see such petty things as the deaths of innocents and evils alike – didn’t wish to be bothered with his servants requesting aid or healing. It was a wonder that one who ruled by fear alone could have stayed in power for so long. Where Dumbledore offered aid, protection, life, Voldemort offered, power that was chained to pain and death.

 

 

Perhaps Harry had been wrong. Perhaps Voldemort deserved more than Hell.

 

 

“Potter.”

 

 

The Boy Who Lived did not even so much as blink at Nagini’s hiss. In all truth, he had expected her sooner. Her large form slithered toward him, stopping a mere foot away, before she rose up, baring her large, poisonous fangs, golden eyes glinting in warning. Harry simply scowled at her, the memory of her attack on Arthur two years ago still fresh in his mind.

 

 

“Don’t fuck with me, Nagini,” he growled sharply, his scar burning now. “My quarrel is not with you. There are others who wish to take your life.”

 

 

“And I will find them, snake-speaker,” she purred in response. “Right after I take yours.”

 

 

Harry snorted in morbid amusement. “You would rob your master of that right, snake?” 

 

 

“Indeed she would not.”

 

 

Nagini dropped like a rock at the sound of the raspy voice, eyes rolling backward to get a better look at the speaker. Harry did not even bother, already knowing exactly who it was, and instead began to mentally go over his plan.

 

 

“Harry Potter. I did not expect you to come to your death so readily.” Voldemort’s voice was cheerful, but Harry could feel his frustrated curiosity. Plan set and confirmed, Harry turned around, banishing the burning of his scar with a push of his mind, smiling pleasantly at the one man who had made his life a living hell since Halloween sixteen years ago.

 

 

He looked the same as he had in the Department of Mysteries.

 

 

“What can I say, Tom?” Harry replied. “I’ve grown tired of being predictable.” His eyes twinkled madly with mischief as he felt Voldemort’s anger spark at the use of his true name, and he faked an expression of regret. “Oh, Tom, I’m sorry! I forgot you don’t like to be called Tom. I mean, it was the name of your Muggle father, after all.” Voldemort’s red eyes glowed with anger.

 

 

“Crucio!” With skill acquired only by training with a ruthless Potions Master, Harry dodged the curse of pain, smirk now once again on his face.

 

 

“Did I strike a nerve, Tommy boy?” He asked innocently. “Tsk, tsk. So sensitive. They have therapy for people like you.”

 

 

“Crucio!”Harry dodged the curse again, cocking his head to the side in mock confusion.

 

 

“And I’m the one who’s bloody predictable? I should have introduced people to you! It’s always “torture people, kill Harry Potter” with you, isn’t it?” The Gryffindor shook his head. “You know, you could have just gotten a life and spared us a lot of time and pain.”

 

 

Voldemort was apparently far from amused. He raged silently for a second, and then Harry felt a heavy blow to his head. It was all he could do to stand up right. Suddenly, Severus’ voice rang through his head.

 

 

“Clear your mind! Push back! How the hell do you expect to keep anyone out?”

 

 

Harry pushed.

 

 

Voldemort fell back to the ground in surprise, whilst Nagini hissed in anger. Harry’s smirk faded, his expression serious, and when he spoke, his voice was so much like Dumbledore’s that the Dark Lord felt his heart sink just a little.

 

 

“But it’s too late for a new life now, isn’t it, Tom?”

 

 

.T.

 

 

They just kept coming.

 

 

Ron was practically growling in exasperation as one werewolf would be replaced by a vampire, or an inferi with a giant. No matter how many they destroyed, more just kept replacing them. He was growing tired fast, and in a war, that was as dangerous as walking around unarmed.

 

 

And he had still not caught sight of Harry.

 

 

“Ron!” He turned his gaze toward his other best friend, who had just finished off an inferi with a hefty disappearing spell. “Do you notice something strange about these things?”

 

 

“You mean besides the fact that they seem to be focusing on us only?” Ron called back sarcastically, ramming his dagger into another vampire, no longer flinching at the sight of the blood. “No, Hermione, nothing at all!”

 

 

“Step away!” She ordered, causing the redhead to shoot her a startled look.

 

 

“What? Have you gone mad?” She scowled at him, already moving backwards.

 

 

“Just do it!”

 

 

Cursing the insanity of Hermione Granger under his breath, Ron slowly began to back up, until his back was touching hers. And then he realized exactly what she was talking about.

 

 

The monsters hadn’t followed them. They simply stood there, looking as murderous as they had before, but not moving in on them.

 

 

“What the hell?” He demanded, wand lowering. Hermione, however, simply nodded.

 

 

“They’re conjured,” she whispered, voice filled with horrified dread. “Ron, they’re not real. They were conjured.”

 

 

“Voldemort’s trying to keep us away from Harry,” he spat furiously. Hermione, just as livid, raised her wand.

 

 

“Pellerima!” She roared, swinging her wand around so that the spell hit them all. Everything the blue light touched instantly vanished, leaving nothing around them but the war itself.

 

 

“Fucking shit!” Ron cried, throwing his dagger to the ground in rage. Hermione, however, simply stared ahead, mouth dropping open in horror. Without warning, she grasped Ron’s hand and dragged him forward at a dead run. Looking up, Ron saw why.

 

 

Harry.

 

 

.T.

 

 

They stared each other down.

 

 

“How did this happen?” Voldemort demanded, practically spitting with rage. “How did you become so strong?!”

 

 

Harry withdrew his wand and spun it between his fingers, much in the same fashion Bellatrix had done earlier. He snorted. “It’s been two years since we’ve battled one another. Where you’ve been planning this war, and trying to take over the world, I’ve been training.”

 

 

“I guess you can say I’ve grown up.”

 

 

“Caedes!” Voldemort bellowed. Harry dodged the curse one last time, before aiming his wand and throwing one of his own.

 

 

“Redigere!” Voldemort was locked where he stood, crimson eyes widened slightly in surprise.

 

 

“Subdue?” He inquired, mouth twisting into a smirk. “You think you can reform me, Harry?” The Boy Who Lived matched the smirk.

 

 

“I wouldn’t give you the chance, Tom,” he snarled back, smile still in place as the Dark Lord’s mouth clamped shut. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, and with a sigh, pointed his wand in that direction.

 

 

“Avada Kedavara!”

 

 

Nagini slumped to the ground lifelessly, but before Voldemort could begin raging, Harry said something that made him stop moving all together.

 

 

“Remember that prophecy, Tom?” He inquired nonchalantly. “Would you like to know all of it?” He didn’t give the older wizard a chance to respond. “Of course you would. You’re predictable. Silly of me. Here, I’ll share it with you.”

 

 

“The One With The Power To Vanquish The Dark Lord Approaches,

 

 

Born To Those Who Have Thrice Defied Him,

 

 

Born As The Seventh Month Dies,

 

 

And The Dark Lord Will Mark Him As His Equal,

 

 

But He Will Have Power The Dark Lord Knows Not,

 

 

And Either Must Die At The Hand Of The Other,

 

 

For Neither Can Live While The Other Survives.”

 

 

And Harry fell silent, allowing the words to sink in – allowing Voldemort to fully grasp what he had done.

 

 

“Such a shame you didn’t know this earlier, Tommy,” he said pityingly. “Could have saved yourself a lot of trouble. But it’s too late for that, too, isn’t it?”

 

 

He walked up to the Dark Lord, watching as the subduing spell began to fade. Watching as Voldemort began to attempt to move away. A small pang of pity flowed through him, but he pushed it away.

 

 

The bastard deserved no mercy.

 

 

He lunged at him, throwing himself onto his back, his arm and what was left of the spell holding him in place.

 

 

“Draco Malfoy taught me this little trick,” he informed the Dark Lord. “Used it on his dad. No doubt he’ll be pissed as hell when he discovers that he helped me, but it’s not like I’ll care.”

 

 

“You’ll die, too, Harry,” Voldemort hissed, but the boy simply scoffed. They began to glow blue.

 

 

“You put some of yourself in me when you tried to kill me the first time, Tom,” he informed, slowly bringing his wand up and leveling it with the Dark Lord’s heart. “And I’m not taking any chances of you using that to come back. I’ll die, big deal. You’ll be dead, too.”

 

 

He could hear Hermione and Ron shouting, far away enough that he could still complete this, but closer than he would have liked. He hadn’t wanted them to see this at all. But that was his fault. Severus had given him a window, and he had dragged it on a little longer than he should have.

 

 

He leaned in so that his mouth was beside Voldemort’s ear.

 

 

“Rot in hell, bastard!” He snarled, pushing his wand into the cavity as far as it would go.

 

 

“Harry! Please, stop! Don’t!” They had gotten too close now. Harry closed his eyes, feeling the traitorous tears slip by.

 

 

‘Ron. Hermione. Please forgive me.’

 

 

“Morsambio!”

 

 

The last Harry heard was Hermione’s terrified, pained scream, before everything went blissfully black.

 

 

.T.

 

 

Locked away in the Headmaster’s Office, Albus Dumbledore suddenly clutched his heart, blue eyes widening with inconceivable surprise, before instantly filling with tears.

 

 

“Harry.”

 

 

Fawkes let out a grieved wail as Albus, for the first time in his life, broke down in uncontrollable sobs.

 

 

Why hadn’t Hogwarts let him leave?

 

 

.T.

 

 

“Harry!”

 

 

Hermione felt as though her heart had just been ripped into two. Her mind was screaming adamant denial, but her body was already moving forward, arms already reaching out to grasp the one person she had always believed would be there. She vaguely aware that Ron was right along side her, voice shouting just as hers did. Their sorrow seemed to intermingle, to surround them, engulfing them in an endless flood of which they would surely not survive.

 

 

They crashed to the ground next to their fallen friend simultaneously.

 

 

“Get off of him!” She cried out, desperately pushing at the Dark Lord’s dead body, screaming at him as though he were still alive. Ron, who was on the other side, grasped the demon’s robes, ripping him away from Harry’s form and literally tossing him to the side.

 

 

And froze.

 

 

There lay Harry, pale as ever, eyes closed, a peaceful expression on his face. There was no sign of pain, no blue tint to his skin. Nothing to prove to them that he was no longer alive, except for the lack of movement from his chest.

 

 

“No!” Hermione threw herself atop Harry’s body, grasping him tightly. “Harry! Harry, wake up! This isn’t funny! Harry, please!”

 

 

All Ron could do was watch.

 

 

All around them, the battle began to stop. Death Eaters who were still loyal to Voldemort dropped like flies – the creatures that had joined him found themselves incapable of coherent thought, and left without so much as a fight. The light side began to rejoice, not yet aware of the fate that had befallen their savior.

 

 

“Merlin, Harry,” Ron groaned, reaching out to clasp his best friend’s hand, wincing horribly as he discovered how cold it was. Hermione continued to sob into Harry’s dirt-covered robes. “Come on, mate. Please. You can’t leave us like this.”

 

 

“Ron!” Hermione cried, sitting up, tears still falling freely from her face. “You promised! You promised we were all going to make it! You promised!”

 

 

“Hermione,” Ron muttered weakly. He pulled her into his arms, much as he had last night. She struggled valiantly before finally falling into his chest, sobbing so hard that he was certain she was in physical pain. Harry’s hand was still clutched tightly in his own, and upon seeing his face again, Ron felt his own tears begin to build up.

 

 

“Why?” Hermione whispered after a moment. “Why … why?” Slowly, she disentangled herself from Ron’s hold, moving back toward her fallen friend. Without hesitation, she reached out a hand, brushing his cheek tenderly, smoothing back his bangs. “Damn it, Harry, why?!” She moaned, now clutching his face in both of her hands. “Answer me!” She demanded, and Ron looked up. They both watched their friend hopefully. Waiting for his eyes to open, waiting for him to sit up, that stupid grin on his face, and exclaim, “Fooled you!”

 

 

But Harry simply continued to lie there, still looking peaceful, and Hermione let loose another sob.

 

 

“We love you, Harry!” She cried desperately. “You can’t leave us alone! We can’t do this without you! Please, Harry. Oh, God, please!” Slowly, she lowered her head to his, placing a gentle, loving kiss to his forhead, her tears falling onto his face.

 

 

“We love you,” she whispered one last time.

 

 

Ron, still in a state of shocked denial, pulled his cloak off of his body, draping it around Harry’s body.

 

 

“Ron?” Blue eyes met honey, and Ron went about his task.

 

 

“He’s cold, Hermione,” he stated, voice on the brink of hysterics. “He doesn’t like being cold. He says it reminds him of the Dursleys. Help me warm him up, ‘Mione. Please.” She simply nodded, pulling the cloak tightly around him, and then looked back up, tears still falling.

 

 

“We can’t leave him alone, Ron. He never left us, we can’t just…” Now Ron nodded in perfect understanding, and they both laid down on either side of him, holding him in a protective embrace. Their tears continued to fall – nothing they did would stop them. Hermione shifted so that her head rest in the crook of Harry’s neck, and Ron so that he was holding them both protectively. He watched them, just as he had last night, and realized, with more sadness and guilt than he could imagine, that never before had Harry looked so peaceful as he did now.

 

 

And that was how they were found two hours later. Harry James Potter, The Boy Who Lived, dead, and his best friends, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, asleep in his arms.

 

 

To Be Continued


	3. But Three

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, or Ronald Weasley. J.K. Rowling created the world of Harry Potter, and therefore owns every aspect of it. I do not intend this story to be any form of slander, nor do I make any profit from it._

_Warnings: Angst, AU, suicide, and character deaths. Ignores Half-Blood Prince entirely.._

**Tristia**

**But Three**

They had always been inseparable. “The Golden Trio”, their schoolmates called them; Dumbledore’s favorites (the Slytherins); the Brat Pack (Professor Snape). It was a rare sight indeed to see one without the other two close by. Even when they were fighting, they couldn’t help but keep somewhat close, just incase. It was a touching sight. Everyone had always believed that they would always be together no matter what.

 

However, as rain pounded the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from cool gray skies, the fact that they were wrong hit every student like a hammer to the chest.

 

Ronald Weasley’s face was blank as he made his way up the stairs the seventh 7th year girls dormitory. No longer did the stairway ward itself against him, but instead let him slowly trudge up its carpeted wooden planks without so much as a jolting threat, only giving the occasional groan and creak of sympathy to his plight. The youngest son of Arthur and Molly Weasley paid it no mind, his usually sparkling cerulean blue eyes, now void of life, focused instead on the door at the top of the stairway. He approached the door just as Paravarti Patil and Lavender Brown stepped out, and froze as they raised identically blood-shot eyes to gaze at him. He didn’t want to talk to them; he wanted nothing to do with them, wanted nothing to do with anyone who was not the last girl behind that door. The other two girls seemed to realize this, for they made their way past him without a word, taking extra care not to so much as brush his thick black cloak as they did so. Ron released a sigh of relief when they were gone, and then entered the dormitory, not giving so much as a knock to warn of his presence.

 

She was sitting on the bed, hair pulled back in elegant fashion, obviously done by her dorm mates, face turned away from him and peering down at something on her lap. Ron’s chest tightened and his heart throbbed when he saw what it was, and at the same time, Hermione Granger allowed a small sob to escape her.

 

Harry’s photo album.

 

“Hermione,” he choked out softly, not being able to form any other words. The brunette Gryffindor’s head shot up immediately, and he realized that she had suffered just as much as he had over the course of the past few days. Her face was ashen, her eyes more red than his hair, and filled with pain matched only what he had seen in the mirror that morning. He had not seen her since that night, when the Order members had forcefully dragged them away from Harry’s body. He wondered if she still blamed him.

 

He did.

 

“Ron,” she replied softly, before looking back down. He took this as an invitation to join her, and he did. He watched silently as flipped page by page, tears of his own beginning to form as he watched their younger selves and Harry wave up at him. Another page flipped – the last picture in the book. It was of him, Hermione, and Harry, standing in front of Hogwarts, arms wrapped around one another, all beaming up happily, before Harry suddenly picked Hermione up and threw her into the moat. Ron watched, tears unfallen, as he did the same to Harry, and the Giant Squid did the same to him. They laughed and splashed one another for a few minutes, and then the picture restarted.

 

“This was the day before,” Hermione reminded him softly. “We were the only ones allowed outside. Snape even agreed to take the picture.”

 

“I know,” Ron responded, just as softly. They watched it a few more times, before Hermione silently closed the book, and looked up.

 

“Please don’t make me do this, Ron,” she pleaded desperately. “Please. I … I can’t do this.”

 

“We have to, Hermione,” Ron pointed out, though he sounded just as reluctant as she did. “We owe it to Harry. He wouldn’t be too happy if we didn’t show up at his funeral.”

 

“They’re moving his parents and Sirius here,” his friend said slightly, brushing away her tears. “Dumbledore says they all deserve that honor. Remus, too.”

 

“That’s good.” The werewolf had been killed in the Final Battle – as far as they knew, it had been before Harry had died. They were both thankful for that; they would have done anything to spare Remus the pain of losing the last of his pack.

 

A soft knock at the door drew both of their attention to it, and Paravarti, head lowered, as she did not dare to look at the two, spoke. “It’s time, guys.”

 

Ron stood, offering his hand to Hermione, who silently took it.

 

Without a word, they left.

.T.

The casket was pearly white, and as it was made of pearl, that was to be expected. It was what Harry Potter deserved, of that there was no doubt. White to symbolize the purity he had always held. The innocence he had never truly lost, not even after he had killed Peter Pettigrew.

 

The hundreds who had gathered to pay their last respects to The Boy Who Lived were gathered in a mass at the back of the Quidditch Pitch, were the ceremony was being held. Those who had gathered to say farewell to Harry Potter were all assembled toward the front, candles in their right hand, and a solitary red rose in their left. Ron and Hermione were in the first two chairs on the front row, Snape and McGonagall beside them, Neville after that. The five also held their candles, but instead of a red rose, held a white.

 

Neither Hermione nor Ron paid much attention to what Dumbledore was saying. They both knew now that Hogwarts had refused to allow her Headmaster to leave (for reasons that were still beyond them), yet they could not bring themselves to so much as smile at him. There was no blame, merely guilt for blame that they had cast.

 

Dumbledore understood, and though it hurt him that they hurt, left them in peace.

 

“Ron.” The seventeen-year-old turned his head slightly at the sound of his mother’s voice. “It’s time now, dear. Go ahead.”

 

Indeed, the Headmaster had ceased speaking, and was waiting for him and Hermione to begin the processions. Joining hands, they approached the coffin, and as one, placed their flowers gently on top.

 

“A friend that to us was the world,” Ron whispered softly, placing his candle into the first holder. “This is not the end, Harry.”

 

“A love that can never be forgotten,” Hermione choked out, settling her candle into the second hole. “We will see each other soon, brother.”

 

They stepped back, allowing others to come up. Hermione rested in Ron’s arms. Together, they cried silently, their never-ending tears now a common sight upon their pale faces.

 

Someone who had managed to sneak in a camera dared to take a shot. With a flick of his wand, Ron blew the machine up, and when the photographer looked up accusingly, it was to lock eyes with the murderous best friend of the world’s most powerful wizard.

 

He sauntered quickly to the back of the crowd. Ron caught Dumbledore’s eye for the first time in days, but simply shrugged. There was no apology.

.T.

Hours after the funeral was over found Hermione and Ron still by Harry’s side. He had been lowered into the ground at the front of the school, a statue of an angel atop a block the signature of his place. Despite several pleadings from family and friends alike, the duo had refused to budge, and had eventually been left alone.

 

Hermione now rested on the ground against the large statue, staring off into space. Ron leaned against it, contemplating more matters in his head than he ever had before.

 

They both jumped as a loud crack sounded across the sky, and blinked as Winky bounded up to them, as much of a mess as they were.

 

“Here!” She cried, barely able to contain a sob. “I found this in Master Harry Potter’s dresser. It’s yours, now!” Quickly, she withdrew a folded sheet of parchment. The second Hermione touched it, Winky cracked away, leaving the two mourning teenagers in stunned silence.

 

“What is it, ‘Mione?” Ron inquired tiredly. The witch simply shrugged, before pulling it open. Her eyes widened as she read, mouth falling open in shock.

 

“Ron!” She cried, jumping up. “Ron! It’s the spell Harry used to defeat Voldemort!”

 

The taller teen took it gently, reading it with less enthusiasm than his friend. He looked up.

 

“What’s your point, Hermione?” He asked. She looked at him in surprise, before snatching it back.

 

“Ron, we can use this. We can be with Harry again.” Ron eyed her as though she had gone mad.

 

“You have to hate the person you’re casting it on! I mean, there are times I don’t like you, Hermione, but I can’t honestly say that I hate you.” He attempted a smile.

 

“Idiot,” Hermione chided gently. Affectionately. His effort at humor was not lost or unappreciated to her ears. “You don’t have to hate them. You simply have to feel a strong emotion that doesn’t conflict with another.”

 

Ron’s blue eyes lit up with realization. Slowly, he turned to stare at Hogwarts. His family was in there. His mother was probably worried sick about him. … But the twins would help her through everything, as would his father, and Ginny. They would all understand.

 

He couldn’t leave Harry.

 

“Are you sure it will work, Hermione?” He asked after a moment. “I don’t want to end up like Malfoy.” Hermione simply scowled.

 

“Better to end up like Malfoy than to be stuck here,” she reasoned. He nodded, and she added. “Will you be the one who does it? … Please?” Ron just nodded.

 

They held one another, facing the grave their friend’s body now lay in. They were near content, but Hermione was still troubled by the grave marker, and before Ron placed his wand to her back, she pulled out her own.

 

“Wait,” she beckoned. He obliged, watching as she waved her wand at the rock, smiling when he saw what she had added. “Ok, I’m ready.”

 

They clutched each other, smiles on their faces, and Ron once more brought his wand to Hermione’s back.

 

_“Morsambio.”_

 

Their lifeless bodies fell to the ground, serene looks upon their faces. The tomb above them seemed to act as some sort of shield, the magic Hermione had used on it still shimmering brightly.

 

**Harry Potter**

**July 31st, 1980 – May 7th, 1997**

**Beloved Son, Godson, Brother, and Friend**

**“Always Loved, Never Forgotten”**

 

_Thank You for Saving Us_

.T.

_They opened their eyes, staring into the bright white light that surrounded them. They were still tangled in their affectionate embrace, and looked at one another in confusion._

_“Where are we?” Ron inquired, glancing around. For the first time in her life, Hermione had no answer._

_“Ron? Hermione?”_

_They both froze at the sound of the voice they had not heard in three days. Slowly, they turned, their limbs slowly disentangling as their eyes filled with awe and shock at the sight that greeted them._

_Harry Potter. Clothed in white, looking much healthier than they had ever seen him before. There were no glasses to conceal his bright emerald eyes. The infamous lightning-bolt scar that had marred his forehead with its horrific reality was now justly banished from his presence._

_They embraced tightly, as though they had been apart for years. Tear were shed, laughter shared._

_“Merlin, Harry, we missed you so much!” Ron groaned, holding his smaller friend tightly. Harry smiled._

_“I missed you guys too. I wish you had not done what you did." Hermione and Ron both went somber at his words. "But it's in the past now."_

_“We’re sorry, Harry,” Hermione whimpered, now horrified at her actions. “We just, we couldn’t …”_

_“It’s ok, Hermione,” he repeated pulling her into another hug. “You’re here now, and we’ll never be split up again.” He pulled back, and brushed the tears off of both their faces. “Now, come one! Smile! I want you to meet my parents! Sirius and Remus are here, too!”_

_They smiled and laughed once more, and slowly, faded from view as the white light engulfed them, their laughter still ringing clearly for all to hear._

.T.

**  
_Dear Draco,_  
**

****

**_I must say, it was surprise to hear from you, and even more of a surprise that you wrote to me, of all people. I was elated when Professor Snape informed me that you had woken up. Harry was always worrying about you after what had happened. I’m sure it is as much a weight off of his chest as it is mine._ **

****

**_I see that you heard about Ron and Hermione. You ask me why they did what they did. You of all people, I assume, know how close Harry, Hermione, and Ron were – how close they’ve always been. They weren’t friends, they were siblings. Tied together by bonds closer than any could imagine. Nothing – not Voldemort, family, or death – could separate them._ **

****

**_Please do not feel any guilt at the use of your spell by them. I was supposed to pass a message onto you once you woke up, if you felt that way. You’ve already received half of it from Professor Snape. Harry wanted me to tell you that he forgave you, and to let you know that none of it was your fault anyway. Also, that if you continued to feel that way, he would personally come back just to kick your arse._ **

****

**_I guess he knew what was going to happen._ **

****

**_Write if you ever have to talk to anyone, Draco. The past is behind us now. Voldemort is gone, and house-rivalries are finished. Perhaps now, we can be friends._ **

****

**_Sincerely_ **

**_Neville Longbottom_ **

_Finished_


End file.
